Checkmate
by 221Bme
Summary: John and Sherlock try to amuse themselves on a boring, rainy day.


"Checkmate."

"What?! _Again?!_ We've barely even started playing this time!" John huffed angrily and leaned forward to examine the chessboard while Sherlock sat back in his chair, basking in the temporary glow of his victory.

He yawned pointedly, glancing at the window, where raindrops were still spattering against the glass and sliding down in little races with each other.

_Bored now._

"I want a rematch." Sherlock turned his eyes back to John, but found his blogger to be wearing an expression of complete disgust.

"No."

"But you're bored as well as I am, and what else are you going to do? Come on, rematch."

"_No way in hell._" John pushed himself up wearily, turning toward the kitchen. "I'm sick and tired of you beating me, and I'd like nothing more than to just-"

"Milk, and no sugar, thank you... As long as you're up."

John let out an exasperated sigh. "_Fine,_ I'll get the tea, but I'm still not playing chess with you again. Maybe never."

Sherlock only smirked as he settled back and propped his feet up.

There were plenty of other things to play on a rainy day. There was Clue, Sorry, Monopoly, John's nerves... The list went on.

The only boring thing was being bored.

And Sherlock was bored of being bored because being bored was boring.

Clue it was, then.

* * *

"Sherlock, _shut up._ There is absolutely _NO POSSIBLE WAY_ it could have been Mrs. Peacock in the kitchen with a metal detector. She's the _VICTIM,_ for god's sake!"

"I'm telling you, it was obviously all just a clever ruse in order to-"

"That's it, no more Clue." John sighed exasperatedly and began putting the pieces away while Sherlock grumbled on and continued trying to explain exactly how the entire crime had been committed by that dastardly little cardboard playing piece, Mrs. Peacock.

Apparently even cardboard could be cleverer than John.

"Your tea's gone cold." John nodded toward the cup balanced on the edge of the table, but Sherlock wasn't listening.

He was too busy being bored.

Bored was bad.

Bored was bad because when Sherlock was bored John would be equally miserable. When the consulting detective had nothing to do he got restless, and when he got restless he did stupid things, and when he did stupid things...

Well. It was just better to keep him occupied.

* * *

"I thought you were actually going to be _HELPING_ me put this puzzle together, not just sitting there watching me." John pressed his lips together in a hard line of annoyance, looking up at Sherlock, who was lounging in the armchair leisurely and only casting occasional glances at his blogger.

"I _am_ helping. I'm letting you get a fair head start, because you'll need it."

John rolled his eyes and selected a puzzle piece, only to be met with an exasperated sigh from Sherlock.

"No, not _that_ one! The _other_ one! Honestly..."

"What, this one?" John moved his hand toward another piece, but Sherlock grumbled and lay upside-down on the seat, looking up at John from near the floor.

"I think you have the goal of this activity mixed up, John. You want to _put the pieces together_, not feel them up individually."

"Well that's what I'm _TRYING_ to do, if you would quit bugging me and actually help!"

"The piece you're looking for has a sheep on it, by the way. On the edge of the table, two o'clock."

"I..." John stared at the piece, trying to decide if he should be annoyed or say thank you. In the end, he settled on just grumbling a little under his breath as he fit it into place.

Now he couldn't help but feel as if that little sheep were staring at him, mocking his every move, just as Sherlock was.

_Stupid sheep._

Sherlock looked up. "Have you gotten stuck again?"

"_NO._ I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"How much easier this would be if you did something other than sit on your arse and talk."

"But I just don't _feel_ like helping, John..." He let himself slide down until his shoulder blades were laying on the floor, and then a little further still. "I'm bored... I need something _interesting..._"

"So this isn't interesting enough..." John sat back, surveying the barely started puzzle. "Thank god. I was about to go mental over this stupid thing."

Sherlock allowed himself a quiet chuckle up at the ceiling before he slid all the way down and twisted around to get to his feet.

The rain had slowed for a little while, and now it was more of a steady spring shower than the angry thunderstorm it had been.

Sherlock crossed the cluttered living room to the window and stood there for a minute with the curtain pulled aside, looking out at the rain soaked streets below.  
"John... I believe there might be one last game to play. I'm only hoping this one will actually be interesting. But by the looks of it, it will be."

"Hm?" John looked over at him. "What is it?"

With a little smile Sherlock let the curtain fall back into place and turned around again. "That doorbell is about to ring in roughly a minute and a half. When it does, Mrs. Hudson will usher our newest client in, and therefore I think you may want to comb your hair a little. Not that she'll really care what you look like, in the state she's in."

"What-who-?" John ran a hand through his hair, suddenly acutely self-conscious, but Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

"John." Sherlock's eyes were bright and eager, and he seemed full of life again. "_The Game is officially on._"


End file.
